The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things(49)

The applause that follows is mostly mine, though a few girls brighten up as Shane arranges himself on the stool, long legs propped to support the guitar. Jace collapses where Shane was, right next to me, and he looks both exhausted and relieved. His hand looks like he might have broken fingers, and that can’t be good for a musician.

As Shane settles in with the pick, strumming the guitar experimentally, I whisper, “Shouldn’t you see a doctor?”

Jace shushes me since Shane’s short warm-up has concluded and he’s playing the opening chords of a song. At first I can’t place it, but then I realize it’s an arrangement of “The Reckless and the Brave”; I really like All Time Low’s version, which rocks, but this is … more. You know how sometimes an acoustic version brings out things you didn’t notice before? Yeah. That. Plus, Shane’s voice. When I heard him in the music room before, he was only playing. Only. That’s like saying Michelangelo was just a guy who liked to carve shapes in rocks.

I’m not alone in going breathless, however. All the talking stops immediately, just as soon as Shane sings the first lines. He’s got rich tone with just a hint of a growl, and it underscores the aching strains he evokes in a melody I’d previously considered pugnacious, defiant even. But somehow, the way he plays the song, along with the slower melody, he elicits a touch of pathos. The girls behind me let out a collective sigh when he sings the line, “I don’t think I want to be saved,” because he sounds like he’s drowning, and I’m pretty sure everyone in the room wants to rescue him.

I do, too.

“Wow,” Jace breathes. “This is a badass cover.”

I can only nod.

Without a single word of segue or explanation, Shane sings the last notes and immediately begins the next song. This one takes me even longer to identify; the Pretty Reckless isn’t my favorite band, though I like Taylor Momsen’s voice. If the first song was soulful, this one is a broken heart; it’s every bad marriage that ever fell apart, every family splintered, and everyone who’s ever seen somebody they love drive off in the middle of the night. As he sings, I can imagine a couple fighting in the street—she’s drunk and he’s broken. Oh God, Shane does broken so beautifully.

I can’t stand it.

I never cry in public, but I can feel the tears starting, a hot burn in my eyes. Shit. At least I’m not wearing mascara. Beside me, Jace stirs, but I only have eyes for Shane. Suddenly I can’t breathe, can’t figure out what the hell he sees in me, but I can’t look away, either. And that’s when I realize, his eyes are locked on mine. Until this moment, I didn’t notice; I thought he was off in music land, but he’s lost in me instead. Though he’s not letting on, he’s scared and I’m holding him steady. I wonder if he’s ever performed in public before. Somehow I manage an encouraging smile.

That’s it. Sing to me. Just me.

When he sings the question, “Do you understand who I am?” I nod because the answer to any question he asks me will always be yes. Maybe I’m in too deep, too fast. I haven’t known him for very long, all things considered, but I’m falling in love, song by song. The room is dead silent when he finishes this one, like the audience doesn’t dare breathe, let alone applaud, but Shane doesn’t need motivation to continue. He’s already strumming the next number.

I’m surprised to recognize a song by an Australian band, one I’d swear few people in the U.S. know about yet. I found them on YouTube, so I guess it makes sense that Shane did, too. And this song. OMG. It breaks my heart because I could be singing it to him, asking these questions. “Why, why me? When you could have had anybody.” I ask myself if he’s singing this for a reason, if he saw how much I doubt belonging with someone like him, someone hot and talented.

I’m so not enough. I can’t be. I smile, and I act happy, and I pretend. I’m the queen of bright and shiny things, eternally looking for the positive and seeking a silver lining in the dark. He’s dating a girl I invented three years ago because the real me is horrible, and I wanted to leave her behind, along with the group home and the court-mandated therapy sessions. I want so bad to be normal, but I never can be.

I can’t. Not after what I’ve done.

The tears slip down, but I’m not alone. Other women look misty, but this number isn’t as sad as the others. He infuses this one with a sweetness that melts the females in the audience, regardless of age. Shane cradles them all in long, graceful fingers; he has them hanging on his every word, every note. The women are all breathless and smiling by the time he winds the song down, ending on a sexy flourish.

The next one, I don’t know at all, but as I listen, I know I’ll be looking for it online to compare the original with Shane’s version, which is somewhere between melancholy and bittersweet. To me, it feels like he’s singing about endings, letting go, and saying good-bye. We both know too much about that, he and I. I listen and dry up my tears, eyes half closed with the sheer power of Shane’s voice. He should have his own channel online, where he posts videos of himself singing. I suspect he’d have a million views and record companies wanting to sign him. I see that future stretched ahead of him like a strand of pearls, and I don’t see a place for me there. Sometimes when you meet someone, you can glimpse the future around them like swirls of smoke, and he’s like that, marked for greatness. Someday people will watch him on TV and onstage; and they’ll marvel they knew him, even for a little while.